


A Guy Like You (should wear a warning)

by banshee_in_the_dark



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Porn With Plot, Romance, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, lydia gets a little drunk, scott and kira get married, stiles is gorgeous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 13:23:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1746233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banshee_in_the_dark/pseuds/banshee_in_the_dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Lydia gets turned on by the mere sight of her fiancé, and weddings are the perfect place to the naughty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Guy Like You (should wear a warning)

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I never get tired of writing these two.

In Lydia’s opinion her fiancé, Stiles Stilinski is the handsomest man in the planet. Imply otherwise in her presence and she will fight you. This is known. Many a catfight she participated on – and won, mind you – back in high school when right after they started dating some girls, obviously secretly jealous of Lydia’s good fortune, sneered that he was beneath her and that he looked like a windpipe cleaner.

Her claws might not be of the supernatural kind but they work just fine to put jealous little brats back in their place and rip off their extensions.

His face is so offensively attractive, with the high cheekbones and angled jaw and pert little nose and his mouth. Jesus, Stiles’ mouth is just, out of this world perfect. Don’t think less of her for getting lost and forgetting her train of thought staring at his lips move and curl as he forms words. He could recite the elements in the periodic table to her and she’d think it’s the hottest thing he’s ever said because those words touched his lips, and those lips are made for sin.

They are very talented, those lips.

And don’t get her started on his eyes. His driving license reads hair, brown; eyes, brown, and she wants to scream. They’re not brown, they’re not _plain_. Those eyes are made by a thousand shades of brown and amber and gold and they flicker when he makes a joke, they harden like a granite wall when he gets defensive and they liquefy when he’s turned on. Those eyes comprise a universe, and they pierce into her soul so easily she can never hide anything from him for too long.

And his hair is actually chestnut brown.

The rest of his body is equally magnificent. All those years playing lacrosse, learning self-defense with Argent and sparring with Scott have given him a lean, toned physique. Broad shoulders firm under her fingers, powerful biceps to swing his mountain ash bat at supernatural creatures or hold her tight just the same. His legs are strong and fast from running with wolves and the planes of his chest a steel cage, keeping his love for his family, for her, for their pack safely inside. He does a good job hiding it, she’ll admit, but Stiles in a Henley shirt with low riding dark wash jeans and the combat boots he started favoring when he realized he could hide wolfsbane coated knives there far more easily than on his sneakers, with his hair messed up like he just rolled off bed, is a heart-stopping sight.

Stiles in uniform, with the words Deputy Sheriff displayed proudly on his shoulder badge, is also quite mouth-watering.

And he certainly cuts a handsome figure in Armani.

She looks at him from her spot at their table, sitting back leisurely, holding the stem of her champagne glass and gently swirling the bubbling liquid as her finger absentmindedly strokes the line of her jaw where he smacked a teasing kiss less than an hour ago. Across the room, he stands with Scott, Derek and Isaac, talking and laughing. By the way Scott is blushing uncontrollably but simultaneously hanging onto every word, Isaac is smirking like a maniac, Derek looks pointedly away flustered and Stiles gestures wildly with his hands what she interprets to be an extremely obscene act, she bets they’re talking about Scott’s wedding night and subsequent honeymoon. Lydia’s lips curl up mischievously. If Scott is going to take pointers from Stiles in the bedroom department, she can guarantee Kira is going to be in for a ride.

And speak of the devil.

“My feet are killing me,” Kira whines as she plops down the chair next to Lydia with some difficulty. Her wedding dress, while absolutely stunning, doesn’t allow her much movement. She takes Lydia’s champagne glass from her hand and sniffs at it. “Is there alcohol in this?” Especially considering she’s ten weeks along the family way and her last fitting was before she even knew she was pregnant. Needless to say they were faced with quite the crisis when she tried on her dress last week and it wouldn’t lace up because of her rapidly expanding waistline.

Lydia takes her glass back from her. “You bet you preggo ass there is,” she takes a generous sip, moaning just for her benefit. “And it’s really good stuff too. The wine too. Your parents didn’t spare a dime.”

“I know. Too bad I can’t have any,” her face scrunches up adorably as she looks longingly at a waitress passing by them offering champagne to the guests. “And my mom keeps handing me drinks,” Kira shakes her head. “I gave them all to Scott when she’s not looking. Thank god for his supernatural metabolism or he’d be wasted by now.”

“You could’ve just told your parents you’re pregnant,” Lydia whispers, mindful of the guests around them, although the music and the hum of people talking offer enough cover to their conversation. Scott and Kira want to keep the news to themselves for the time being, so the only ones they told were herself and Stiles, although Derek and Isaac heard the baby’s heartbeat so they figured it out in the spot.

Kira rolls her eyes. “The excitement would be too much for them in their old age. They’d probably keel over on the spot.”

“Well I left word in the kitchen to keep a jug of ice tea for you so you can sneak there whenever you want,” Lydia smiles over the brim of the glass.

“And that’s why you’re the best maid of honor. But why are you here by yourself?”

“Truthfully?” Lydia leans closer to her friend and whispers conspiratorially. “I’m enjoying the view.”

Kira quirks a perfectly shaped eyebrow and looks in the direction Lydia covertly gestured to with a wave. A teasing smile lights up her features. “And what a great view that is.”

Lydia hums, agreeing. In the time of her conversation with Kira, Stiles has shrugged off his jacket, leaving him in his pristine white shirt and charcoal grey waistcoat. He’d been firmly against wearing a three piece suit, insisting it was useless and ridiculous and he’d feel uncomfortable all night, but since he was the best man he couldn’t just wear whatever he wanted. Scott wanted all the guys in the wedding party in three piece suits and that was final.

Lydia for one couldn’t find fault in that. The waistcoat fits closely to Stiles’ body, accenting his slim, firm silhouette. There is nothing but unyielding muscle under the layers of clothes, she knows this intimately, but there are other women in attendance, mostly Kira’s college friends and work colleagues, that have taken notice of his superior good looks and have been trying to catch his attention all night. She can see them staring at him now, practically salivating. It’s pathetic. Some even work up the courage to walk up to Scott with the excuse of offering their congratulations but with the clear intention of scoring an introduction with Stiles. He shakes their hand and smiles at them because he is a polite little shit and completely oblivious to the effect he has on those women.

They better start minding their own business and stay away from her man or she’ll start throwing punches.

(Can you tell she’s drunk? She’s quite a bit drunk, seriously the champagne is fantastic and goes down so smoothly… )

She sees him roll up his shirtsleeves up to his elbows and she would be furious at him (that is _not_  how you treat a two hundred dollar shit, dammit) if it weren’t for the expanse of flesh revealed that unavoidably makes her blood boil. He has very nice arms okay? They’re dusted with hair soft to the touch, with thick, stark veins trailing along them like a map and the skin in the inside of his arms is silky and incredibly ticklish. Every time she takes his offered arm, curling her hand in the inside of his elbow, Stiles shivers uncontrollably and treats her to the lovely sound of his apologetic, self-deprecating laugh.

Don’t let him go for the tie. She swears to god if she sees him hook his long, oh-so-skilled fingers through the knot she spent twenty minutes on, and pulls at it, loosening it, doing that thing where he rolls his head from one side to the other, reveling the long lines of his neck and his bulging Adam’s apple, she will not be responsible for what she does. Drunk and turned on is not a good combination in her experience. Her possessiveness flares out of control and she ends up doing things she doesn’t exactly _regret_ , but that give Stiles ammunition to tease her endlessly.

He goes for the tie. He does the neck thing. Lord have mercy on her poor, helplessly aroused soul.

He carelessly runs a hand through his hair messing it completely as his face scrunches up in concentration, answering a question from Scott. That’s it. She can’t take it anymore. He is over there looking like _that_ , all rumpled and sexy and she – how is she supposed to resist him?

She mumbles an excuse to Kira and crosses the distance separating her from Stiles as quickly as she dares. He sees her coming his way and his face lights up, bringing her back for a split second to that night so many years ago when he scored a goal and found her cheering for him on the bleachers.

“Boys, mind if I borrow Stiles for a sec?” she asks breathlessly.

Lydia doesn’t wait for and answer and just drags him away by the hand, leading him outside through the double doors. The night breeze is a welcome change from the somewhat stuffed interior. There are a few couples walking through the paved gardens so Lydia veers off away from the most populated area to the side of the building where a line of tall hedges conveniently blocks them from prying eyes.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you brought me here to ravish me,” Stiles teases, looping his arms around her waist and gently pulling her against him.

“Then you don’t know me very well at all.”

She clings to his neck and pushes him against the wall, angling her head and standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. Stiles leans back against the wall, opens his legs wide letting Lydia step through them as their lips move in a practiced, tireless dance.

“Have I told you how gorgeous you look in that dress?” he nibbles softly on her lower lip, sneaks his fingers under the strapless dress at her back, teasing the skin and popping the first in the long line of buttons pulling a poorly muffled moan from her.

“Shut up and fuck me,” she whispers urgently, skillfully undoing his dress pants and reaching inside his boxer to stroke his rapidly hardening length.

He groans, turns them around, expertly lifting her and balancing on his thighs as she loops her legs around him. Lydia applies her teeth to his earlobe as he bunches the skirt of her dress up to her waist, careful not to wrinkle it too much, sneaking his hand between them to trace the edge of her flimsy thong, and finding the material soaked.

He nudges his cock into position, simply moving the string of her panties aside and teasingly pushing only his tip inside her. Lydia shudders, pulls his face to her and licks at the seam of his lips, the gentleness belying the raging need inside her. She feels him thrust a little more of him, feels her walls struggle to accommodate him. He’s not even half way in and she’s got him in a vice lock.

She rocks her hips and Stiles gets the point and starts moving against her, maddeningly slowly. The heavy weight of his shaft, the unyielding piercing of her most intimate flesh is almost enough to make her come. He takes control of the kiss, angling her head just so and plundering her lips in a way she’s sure will leave them red and swollen and no one will doubt what they sneaked away to do.

She’s pretty sure he’s doing it on purpose.

(She doesn’t mind.)

His thrusts increase in speed, hitting spots inside her that make her whimper and moan as every thrust lifts her higher against the wall. She threads her fingers through his hair, pulling roughly as her orgasm builds up, tossing her head to the sides and failing miserably at keeping quiet.

A high pitched laugh reaches them and they freeze instantly. They look around urgently but no one’s there. The sound of merry voices is near, a ways off the wall of hedges but they don’t seem to be moving in their direction, more like just standing there and chatting.

Lydia worries her lip sharing a silent conversation with Stiles. He’s still hard inside her and she’s frankly past the point of caring about being caught. She’s been building up to this moment since she saw Stiles standing next to Scott at the church looking more devilishly handsome than she can remember. She _wants_  this.

Stiles smirks, his eyes dark with arousal. He brings a finger to his lips, breathes a shh, and releases his arm from her waist, abruptly lowering onto his shaft, seating it so deep inside her black spots dance in front of her eyes, and reaches his hand to where they’re joined and taps sharply on her clit.

He moves his hand to press against her mouth to contain her cries. She clings to him with every bit of strength she has, precariously balanced upon his thighs, his cock rooted at the end of her channel proving a lifeline. Stiles rubs her clit in frantic little circles, biting back his own grunts as he picks up speed.

Mindful of the people nearby, Lydia tries to control her breathing but it comes in and out frantically through her nose, whispering against Stiles’ hand.

She gropes for purchase, digging her nails in his shoulders. She feels his muscles tremble. He’s not going to hold out for much longer, and neither can she, if only he’d tilt his hips just so –

“Mmm!” the orgasm hits her violently, her walls clench hard on Stiles’ hard length and his hand does a very poor job of muffling her screams.

Stiles grows low in his throat, a guttural sound coupled with the feel of him pulsing inside her and his sweaty forehead connecting with hers.

He hikes her up higher, dragging his hand away from her mouth to wrap around her waist. Their lips find each other but they don’t kiss, they pant, gasp in unison, breathing life into one another.

“Oh my god let’s get out of here.”

Lydia opens her eyes and looks over Stiles shoulder at the two women hurriedly scurrying away, a wicked smile curling her throbbing lips when she recognizes them as two of Kira’s co-workers that have been battling their fake lashes at Stiles all night.

Let them see who he belongs to.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Please leave a comment, I love hearing from you guys XD


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